


The Best Guy at Best Buy

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Retail, Bickering, M/M, and peter is just a technological MESS, but like. lovingly, sam works geek squad @ best buy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: Sam had a rule about customers that was essentially the same as say, the guidelines at an art museum.• Don't become enamored at first sight and imagine your life together in the blink of an eye, dumbass.He was kinda shit at following rules, though, so that one hadn't worked out.





	The Best Guy at Best Buy

**Author's Note:**

> i return and i come bearing dumbass self indulgent weirdly niche eldonado fic! whodve thought!

To put it simply, it had started about three months ago. Sam had been the only technician not elbow deep in trying to clear viruses or repair shattered screens, and thus, had been the one that had waltzed over to the guy.

He was nervous looking, head tilted down keeping a slight shadow of hair to obscure his face as he fiddled with his phone in his hands while he waited.

Sam had asked if he needed any assistance, and that was when he'd looked up.

Sam had a rule about customers that was essentially the same as say, the guidelines at an art museum. 

• Don't become enamored at first sight and imagine your life together in the blink of an eye, dumbass.

He was kinda shit at following rules, though, so that one hadn't worked out.

To be fair though, the guy had these great eyes hidden behind these stupidly cute glasses, and it was so easy to imagine like twenty scenarios involving those glasses and an almost lethal amount of domesticity which didn't even take into account the small pout on his lips and like, Sam was only human, y'know?

But Sam was also a broke-ass college student, and that trumped being human, so he'd started in on his spiel only to find out that the guy - Peter - simply had iconic friends who had changed the default language on his phone to Gàidhlig and now he couldn't get it back to any language he actually understood.

But Sam had memorized the set-up on the Samsung a long time ago, and in about fifteen seconds flat had it switched back.

He'd recommended a password or pin code, hell, maybe even a fingerprint, and told him he was good to go. 

Peter had smiled - and what a smile it was - quickly shaken his hand, and gone on his way, saying something about having a shift to get to.

All in all, it had been fleeting, and Sam thought he'd never see him again - a supposed fact he only moped about for a few minutes on his state-mandated break.

\---

The next time he'd seen him, it had been from afar. Sam had been returning a laptop to a younger teenaged kid, while her mother stood watching on and corralling twin boys. The kid had been polite, honestly the perfect customer, and had very clearly wanted to be anywhere but there, so had finished their exchange as quickly as possible.

Not quick enough, though, because by the time he was done, Christa - one of the other technicians - had finished helping him and sent him on his way.

He'd asked - super casually, of course - what he'd wanted, and she'd replied that he'd locked himself out of his phone. With a small, not wholly-malicious laugh she'd added that his passcode was supposed to be 1234, but he'd accidentally put in 1123, and she'd suggested maybe try something a little harder to crack.

Sam had definitely not thought that was kinda cute, and went on his way to answer the phone.

\---

Eventually, Peter became a kind of fixture in the store. It wasn't rare anymore to see him milling around, even hanging out at the front desk for prolonged periods of time.

He'd made fast friends with Sam, obviously. They picked and poked and danced around one another, not meeting eyes for them getting stuck there, but still finding it in themselves to talk shit like it was going out of style. But even after Sam he didn't stop. He got along amicably with Christa, them each trading "Don't you have anything better to do?"s. He even enamored the third of his and Christa's usual shift trio, Madison, to no end. Sam was pretty sure they'd gotten coffee once. Not that Sam was concerned about that because Madison was about as much of a lesbian as Sam was gay, which was to say, extremely, with no doubt about it, and twice as much in June.

But here was the thing, the long and short of it, really. Peter didn't just come into the store and hang around. They _had_ a customer who came in every once and awhile and just strolled around for like an hour or three to play all the demo video games or whatever, and that was some guy named Dylan that they had a special code for over their walkies when he was spotted (and yes, it was a code 420; weed smell rolled off that guy like scent trails on Pepé Le Pew.)

Peter, however, always had a purpose (or rather, excuse, as Sam liked to think to himself privately and not voice that to anyone else lest he get heckled to hell and back) to be there. And honestly, it was kind of astonishing.

After the original two incidents, he'd come in with a cracked screen, which was easy enough, and water in the charging port, which had been a little trickier. 

Then there'd been the spyware on his laptop that had locked it up, but Sam had flicked it out of there like a pesky bug and thrown Avast on it to be safe. That same laptop had a hinge bust out of it where the screen met the keyboard a week and a half later, which was a doozy and left Peter shopping for laptops - which happened to coincide with Sam's break, total coincidence that didn't leave Sam owing Christa a favor or three, not at all. That day had been good, had almost been something _more_ if Sam hadn't been such a chickenshit and swallowed down a compliment when Peter laughed so hard at one of Sam's dumb jokes that he popped a dimple in his cheek. Rather he'd just continued to rag on Peter and tried not to stare too long.

It was amazing, really, how much technology Peter could fuck up. Especially considering the guy was in film - Sam had assumed that you had to be like, some tech savvy asshole to work in film. Not a twenty-something who he had watched seriously debate on getting a fucking Jitterbug.

"It ruins the magic," Sam had explained to him when Peter came in with a frozen up digital camera and a scowl. "That the film guy can't even handle a camera."

"That's why there are PMs and DPs, Sam."

"I love it when you talk technical to me, Pete."

He'd wrinkled his nose at that, but had at least accompanied it with a grin and a small laugh, so Sam counted it as a win.

That was really how they spent most of their time, bickering. Christa had called it flirting with a few more expletives, Madison had called it something else entirely that made Sam's cheeks hot. She'd won that round.

Sam wouldn't mind, really, if they kept that up just...outside of the towering walls of his place of work. See, he was pretty confident on the Peter not being straight thing, had agonized over it with the self-proclaimed walking gaydar herself, Jenna (who had forewarned that her thing mostly worked on girls or those aligned, at least) and then realized that his laptop literally had a Pride sticker on it the literal next day. So, confident. And he was also pretty sure that Peter was kinda interested, maybe more than kinda, but he didn't let himself hope any farther than that. Hoped he was, really. Had caught him mumbling things under his breath and fidgeting weirdly enough that it was either that or he hated Sam's guts.

It was a perfect storm, if Sam thought about it. And as a lover of B-list romance movies where perfect storms were the bread and butter, he knew he couldn't let it roll through without at least trying to do something about it.

\---

"He's back," Christa said, turning her head to call it over her shoulder. "He's got a grocery bag."

Sam didn't huff, because he wasn't allowed to huff, but he did exhale deeply, and maybe when he scratched his nose he pinched it a little bit.

"I've got it," he replied, which was uneeded because Christa now refused to help the guy, if only to force Sam over to him to maybe do something about their UST - _it's been nearly two months,_ she liked to remind him in the break room.

When he got to the counter Peter at least has the decency to look embarrassed - or, rather, more embarrassed than usual. He always had an air of sheepishness and vague discomfort around him, though Sam could usually melt it away if he tried hard enough.

"Again?" Sam asked him with a small sigh, his face pulling in what was once concern, but has now, after all this time, morphed into disgust.

"Again," he agreed.

"Let's see it, then, I guess," Sam said, already making hands to grab at the bag, but he held it steady in his white-knuckled hands.

"I would just like to preface," he began, "That I'm sorry, and please feel free to tell me it can't be fixed."

Sam had been working Geek Squad for about a year. Consequently, he'd seen _so much shit._ It's like bottom of the barrel customer service, honest to god. 

He once had a guy bring in a laptop screen and a keyboard. They were separate. They were not the same model. He would not leave until they were attached. 

He once had to clean a literal 68 (so close) viruses off someone's laptop that they got from "just using Google for some school stuff" which had gotten a laugh out of him despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't because okay, yeah, likely story, pal.

One time a woman came in with a fucking 80s briefcase cellphone and asked for a tutorial on how to use it, then threatened to go to his supervisor when he tried to politely explain why he couldn't do that.

And that didn't even begin on the _house calls_.

Needless to say, Sam had thought he'd seen it all.

The moment he felt the weight of the bag in his hand, heard the sounds coming from inside, he knew there was more in store.

Figures.

"Dude, what the actual fuck happened?" Sam blurted before he could remember he's on the clock and under no circumstances supposed to use that kinda language in front of the customers - not that Peter minded, but there wass another customer walking over to the desk, so there was that.

"I was trying to clean my keyboard," he muttered, tanned cheeks heating slightly. "It, uh, it did not go to plan," he added.

"Yeah, no shit," Sam replied, hand coming up to his forehead to half brush his gelled hair even farther back. "I- god. Okay."

He inhaled. It was what Christa would - albeit slightly mockingly - tell him to do if she wasn't currently hiding so he couldn't call her over.

"What," exhale, "What happened?"

"My E key was stuck, so I. Y'know. God, Sammy, I know this looks bad-"

"I'm gonna be honest, this is worse than bad, but finish explaining how a stuck key led to literally all of you keys being separated from your keyboard?"

Because that's exactly what had happened, what he was looking at. A closed laptop like a meatball in a dish full of Spaghetti-Os.

He reached up, nervously adjusting his glasses in a way that Sam refused to admit was endearing at the moment. "You know the, uh, Pringles tagline?"

Disdain had never dripped from Sam's words more than it did when he said, "You popped and didn't stop." 

"In my defense, I thought I was going to have a really clean keyboard, and that I could fix it myself."

"Literally all you had to do was take some rubbing alcohol and a Q-Tip to it. Press on the stuck key 'til it popped back into place. You've been here enough to know that this isn't the right course of action. Like, if you wanted to see me again, you could've just asked for my number, Pete."

That last part had been a joke, but he was pleasantly surprised to see the dusting of heat rise to his ears. "That's not-"

"Oh, so you didn't want to see me again?" Sam jokes, because he was half-asshole, but full master of nervous humor at inappropriate times. And after blushing and fumbling over the guy in front of him for literal months, it was nice to not have to do all the leg work.

"Do you really think I pulled all the keys off my keyboard just to see you again?" he asked, a half-cocky smile on the side of his mouth that Sam didn't even know he possessed, but would really like to see again. "Seriously?" he added, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and obviously trying not to expel a laugh.

"I dunno, dude, you tell me."

"I didn't," he said, but Sam didn't whole-heartedly believe him. Wishful thinking, sure; but hey, that's show business. 

He added something under his breath, something that sounded like, "You're cute, but not that cute," and Sam just grinned. This was too good to be ignored. 

"You keep telling yourself that. Hey, I think we sell some of those personal-sized Pringles cans if you wanna grab a snack while I reattach all your keys in the wrong order."

Perfectly schooled expression. "You wouldn't."

Shit-eating grin. "I totally would."

\---

(He totally did.)

It had taken a little longer than he'd thought, so it was a few days later when he smugly reapproached the counter, holding only the laptop, no aside keys.

Peter stood in the waiting area, hands shoved in his pants' pockets, his eyes drifting over everything and nothing at once.

"Mr. Maldonado," Sam called pleasantly, professionally, too enamored with his own perfect plan.

Peter approached the counter with his mouth pinched, nothing like his usual easy smile, but Sam wasn't worried, this was going to work.

He handed the laptop over for inspection, and after an accusing squint, Peter turned his eyes to the keys. 

Sadly, there was no obvious moment when it clicked for him. No spark in his eyes or, as Sam would've much preferred, a to the point coquettish curl to his lips.

Instead he closed the lid, traded a few jabs with Sam, and after the required transaction, left.

He probably should've chased him down to fix what he'd done, instead of letting him leave with the laptop in its current state, but like. He had just _left_ , he didn't even _notice_ , and the thought of having to look him in the eyes and explain what had happened made Sam physically cringe into himself.

So, he didn't take the mishap personally. And Christa did not tell him to quit his pissing and moaning and get back to work. And he absolutely did not make Gabi (and probably Jenna, he hadn't seen her, but she was likely to have been there) listen to him do the aforementioned pissing and moaning once he was off the clock.

\---

Sam didn't have another shift until two days later - two radio silent days - and like, okay. He definitely wasn't better than his following actions, but he wanted to be, so that assuaged all his concerns and let him proceed on as planned. 

Bag tugged over his shoulder, he made a quick lap around the store, ducking in and out of movies and video games and Apple products, looking to see if, ah, _he_ was there before he clocked in.

It only took a couple minutes, and he was still on time, but Madison still levelled him with a look when he came out from the back room.

" _Hey_ , Mads," he said, voice ticking up and adding much too many Ys to the greeting.

"How was the walk?"

Blustering immediately, he shot back, "I don't know what you're talking about."

" _Sure_ you don't, Splotchy."

Fuck his pale ass complexion.

"It's a little warm today, don't you think?"

"It's like, sixty degrees outside. You're so fucking pathetic, man."

"Madison!" he hissed, shooting his eyes around to make sure there weren't any customers. She rolled her eyes at him, leaning herself against the counter before finally responding.

"You are! Why didn't you just ask him instead of like, your weird indie romance turned stalker-thriller film gesture. Who wants to have to go all escape room on the clues some dude left in their laptop keyboard to get laid, Sam? Who wants to go through all that? Like, yeah, Peter's a huge fucking dork, so he's probably into that, but he's also oblivious as fuck, Sam - you can't lead with it."

"That's not why I gave him my number-"

"Bull _shit_ -"

"Okay, you know what, let's just get to the root of this, you're just pissed because you think I'm poaching your coffee buddy. Who, might I remind you, I met first and introduced you to."

"Frankly, your accusation is just. Shut up. I'm going to go work on that laptop fan," she spit out quickly, her cheeks dimpling in as she headed off toward the back.

"Point to Ecklund, it's twelve to eleven now, Kaplan!" he called after her smugly.

She levelled two birds over her shoulders, calling out, "There's my eleven," before she disappeared into the repairshop.

Sam rolled his eyes, opting to answer the ringing phone instead of simmering on a comeback.

He toiled away the day on odd jobs until he got sent off on a house call to an apartment complex halfway across town. Finding parking was hell, doubled by the huge ass van that he hated to drive more than he hated driving stick, but after circling the block twice one opened up not that far from the building.

He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulders, and set off for the fourth floor.

He was not expecting, well, any of this, actually. Usually his house calls were outrageously kind old people or vaguley bigoted old people, the distinction of which didn't really matter because they all just needed the excess buttons on their TV remotes taped over.

"Yo, you the dork dude?" a girl with hair spilled messily over her MIT sweatshirt.

"Sure," he replied. "Uh, Brianna?"

"Only to my parents man, just call me Ganj. TV's this way," she said, already turned away from him and headed back into the apartment.

He followed dutifully, feet tracking across a terrible green carpeting, eyes bouncing across wood panelling. He'd known the building was old, but this was wild to see - it was in a nicer part of town, but that was quite possibly to only selling point, he soon realized. Except for the view, the view was nice.

He found himself in a decently sized living room, a huge flat screen sitting on the ground and not one, not two, but three gaming consoles beside it. He could feel a wire induced headache starting to pulse behind his eyes.

In the far corner of the room was Code 420, an XBox contoller in his lap, and FaceTime open on his phone - he was…fighting? With someone.

"Yeah, man, it cut out, and like, dude, I hadn't had a checkpoint in like an hour, I'm so fucked."

"Is that really what you're worried about? Not your and Ganj's brand new TV shutting itself off after you just finished paying off the layaway?"

"Man, listen, we got an insurance plan, and your boy'll fix it anyway - he just can't fix the save file in my heart."

"Dylan, shut the fuck up."

"That's my roommate," Ganj said as she flipped herself down onto one of the bean bag chairs. "Dyl! Don't be fucking rude."

Dylan looked up from his phone, his eyes lagging on whatever was on his screen before they made contact on Sam.

"Hey, man," he greeted, before hissing something under his breath at the guy he was on the phone with. "I'm gonna, uh, take this is in the other room," he said, rolling out of his own bean bag and darting off toward what Sam figured was a bedroom.

"Sorry about him, anyway, have at it," she said, motioning to the TV before she pulled her phone from the pocket of her joggers and set to silently scrolling through something.

This was why people around his age were his favorite house calls. Old people liked to complain or hover, middle aged dudes liked to tell him how to do his job, but the younger people - they just wanted to let him do his job, and most of the time, they were super cool. Except for that one weird dude in his mom's basement with like a whole high tech set up, started with a G. God, that fude was freaky as fuck.

"You need any help?" Ganj asked, looking up from her phone, a smirk in the corner of her mouth at whatever she'd just read.

"Oh, uh, no I got it," he said, trying to sound pleasant as he pawed through wiring and tried to find the damn outlet. "But thanks."

"No problem, just let me know."

By the end of it, Sam realized it wasn't actually a tech problem, but an electrical one. They'd just flipped a breaker, he was pretty sure, but for insurance reasons he was really allowed to fix something like that? But he'd worked tech in theater long enough to know what to do so he'd explained it to Ganj and let her handle it herself. If the stacks of ratty textbooks on the bookshelf and the Massachusetts postcard propped up next to them were any indication, the sweatshirt she'd been wearing wasn't for show, and the electrical panel was in good hands.

He was standing around, waiting for payment when Code- Dylan, _Dylan_ reentered the room, now phoneless.

"Yeah, he still hasn't figured it out yet, but it should be like tomorrow, I guess?" he told Sam, picking up on a conversation that Sam hadn't even known they were having.

"What?"

"He'll text. How much do we owe you, man?"

Sam didn't really know what to do with that seeming prediction, and soon left without anymore of an explanation.

\---

As it turned out, Dylan was correct. The only other time Sam had ever seen him right about anything was a fucking FIFA game, so he wasn't really sure how he felt about it, to be honest.

Still, the gift horse was at eye level, and Sam was making a conscientious choice not to peer down it's throat. He had better things to do.

\---

**[unknown]**

hey it's peter i was wondering if you were working today?

_contact added._

_contact name changed to "Best Guy™"_

**[Best Guy™]**

because i kinda need some help since some asshole arranged the number keys on my laptop to be his number instead of just fucking giving it to me, it took me like 4 days to realize it, and i have a whole monthly budget thing i'm never going to get done like this

**[you]**

is there room in the budget for coffee :~)

**[Best Guy™]**

i wouldn't know, would i sam

**[you]**

okay yeah fair but i can actually fix tht for you free of charge p much anywhere

**[Best Guy™]**

yeah but it'd admittedly be better over any form of sustenance that isn't coffee because i literally work at a coffee shop and you know this

**[you]**

you know i never said i was good at this

…dinner?

**[Best Guy™]**

dinner

:-)

**[you]**

holy FUCK i didnt even know you knew wht emoticons were grampa

**[Best Guy™]**

you couldn't have waited like five minutes after i agreed to go on a date with you to trash talk me?

**[you]**

i mean. youre obviously into smthn im doing here so i gotta keep tht up dude

**[Best Guy™]**

i really hate that you're right, and so clearly at that

**[you]**

;)

okay i actually am at work tho so if you wanna drop in thts cool but also i gotta go before christa metaphorcally, emotionally, and physically kills me with nothing more than a nintendo switch and her glare

**[Best Guy™]**

what's a nintendo switch?

**[you]**

peter i swear to GOD

**[Best Guy™]**

sam my best friends are intense gamers they'd have ruined my life if i didn't know what a switch was by now

also i'm like three quarters of the way through breath of the wild on there so

**[you]**

pete dude thts probably the hottest thing you ever have or will say to me

**[Best Guy™]**

get back to work before it's the last thing i ever say to you

we all know i'm just in this for the monochromatic uniform 

**[you]**

you would be

**[Best Guy™]**

i was gonna say i'll see you in a bit but now? i'll see you maybe

**[you]**

god you wound me, pete, you rlly do

but i'll see you soon

**[Best Guy™]**

fine but you twisted my arm on this one

\---

When Peter walked into the Best Buy for what had to have been the tenth or so time in the past two weeks, the security guard waved at him kindly. And greeted him by name. Suddenly, Peter worried maybe he had a problem. God, a Best Buy problem - that was a new low for him, which said so much given he was the fucking American Apparel guy (drunk conversations with Ming would, indeed, make it onto Snapchat if one wasn't careful.)

He tracked the familiar path back to the tech desk, pausing slightly when not only Sam, but Madison too came into view. He wasn't proud to say he hesitated, but he wasn't proud to say he'd done a lot of things as it stood. But Sam was there - Sam who he, after two months of hint dropping and nervous interactions and what amount to schoolyard mud slinging he had a date with - and there was his still fucked up laptop to take into account, and he knew he had to brave.

"Madison Eleanor Kaplan, I won't fucking hesitate," Sam was hissing, his hands swinging and the back of his neck already blotchy. "I swear to the highest Geek Squad power."

"Good thing I'm agnostic - hey, Peter," she said shifting gears from blasé to sickeningly sweet in three seconds flat.

"Hey," he said skeptically, surveying the scene before him with extra scrutiny. Sam looked like he was going to have a stroke, and Madison looked like she was siping mimosas on a sunny beach somewhere.

"Oh my god, fine! Two points - I'll spend two and that's my final offer."

"All I needed, sweetpea," she said with a grin, pinching his cheek. "If you clock out now I'll cover for you with Chrissy. Have fun on your date, losers, don't do anything I would." And just like that she was gone, a fairy godmother in monochrome and innuendo. 

"I'm gonna," Sam started as he chucked his thumb over his shoulder. "But uh, yeah. Hi?"

"Hi," Peter replied with a small laugh. "Go handle that, I'll-"

"Oh, fuck that's Christa- I'll be right back just stay right there."

Sam darted off toward the back, coming stumbling back a few minutes later with his jacket on upside down and his bag smacking at his side. "Go, go, go," he instructed Peter, practically shooing him out the store, only a wayward "Bye, Christa!" permeating their tense silence when they zipped past her.

"What was that for?" Peter called over his shoulder as Sam steered them toward the employee parking on the far side of the building, sheltered away from most, if not all lingering eyes. His hand was in the middle of Peter's back with no real intention of moving, it seemed. Not that Peter minded.

"So you know how Christa is technically my boss?"

"You like to throw it in for spice every now and then, yeah."

"Well _her_ boss chewed her out the other week, so now we're dealing with trickle down. And don't make that face, man, I'm like ninety-nine percent sure I found her and Madison making out in the back a week ago, Madison's gonna be fine."

"That was a mental image I didn't need, Sam."

"Yeah, you and me both, dude. Oh, this is me," he said, stopping them abruptly in front of a little green four door.

"Charming," Peter said, eyeing the stickers on the back window.

"It was my older sister's beforehand, please ignore the 'My other car is a TARDIS' sticker, as that was hers too - I'd like this date to not end before it even starts."

Peter crinkled his nose up in that way he had no idea was like, a Thing to Sam, and blew out a small laugh. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket as his sounds evened out and Sam rocked on the balls of his feet.

"You got any allergies?" Sam asked, snapping his eyes to Peter's from where they'd been levelled over his shoulder.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"You like Italian?"

Peter felt his face pinch up. "Don't you think that's a lot of garlic for a first date?"

Sam grinned broadly, albeit a little goofily. "You sure do think pretty highly of yourself- thinking garlic breath is something you gotta worry about."

"I like to be well prepared."

"You know, we could just get that out of the way beforehand," Sam reasoned with a schooled face that wasn't supposed to betray anything, but very clealry betrayed everything. The quote unquote nonchalant shrug didn't do him any favors either. "Not like there's reservations."

Peter quirked a smile at the corner of his lips. "You've got a point."

It was probably a good thing they didn't have reservations, Sam thought later. They would've missed them by a longshot. Making out in a parking lot for half an hour would do that to you, though.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @wlwshehulk PLEASE feel free to send me vandal prompts whether they be eldonado or gabi/jenna i just wanna contribute kgksjfjs


End file.
